


Like Real People Do

by tabbabbles



Series: I Couldn't Utter My Love When It Counted, but I'm Singing Like A Bird 'Bout It Now [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: A little, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Bathing (non sexual sorry), Canon Compliant, Except for Merlin, Future Fic, He Needs Merlin, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by a Hozier Song, It is a song fic also sorry, M/M, Merlin goes catatonic for a bit, Resurrection, Self Sufficient Arthur Pendragon Doesn't Need No Man, slow burn?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27834934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tabbabbles/pseuds/tabbabbles
Summary: Arthur's back. Neither of them know how to act Heterosexually™️. Need I say more?
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: I Couldn't Utter My Love When It Counted, but I'm Singing Like A Bird 'Bout It Now [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2071101
Comments: 23
Kudos: 126





	Like Real People Do

I had a thought, dear

However scary

About that night

The bugs and the dirt

Arthur knew he had changed since he had woken up in this time. He no longer felt tethered to the mortal world in the way he had in Camelot. He felt the way time moved, sluggish like an old horse yet fast as a bolt of lightning. The season was colder than that of the day he died, but the air held the thickness of summer.

He could feel that some longer, more incomprehensible time had passed since the golden age of Camelot in the same way that one could feel the presence of another person in a room. It was as though the magics of the earth, something he had felt no connection to before his return, were trying to tune his mind and body to the new world he had woken in with the wrong key.

Though he could not truly explain how he came upon this knowledge, Arthur Pendragon could tell you three things:

  * The time of Camelot was gone and his knights and queen with it. 
  * Magic was a natural and (frankly wonderful) part of existence that soaked into your bones and left you with a pleasant buzz.
  * Merlin was the only part of his previous life that he had left; and he was slipping away before his very eyes. 



Despite his-quite impressive-list, the contentment that he had scarcely been able to revel in as sovereign had dissipated entirely. He was sometimes stuck feeling as though he were still choking on the earth, caught in the knowledge that there was little he could do for himself now that he was no longer the king of Camelot. He was no longer endlessly restless as he had been as a prince and king, nor hellbent on a mission impossible as his father, but this brought him little peace. 

His memories of Camelot had faded quickly, becoming distant in his mind. The suffocating hurt he had expected to feel upon realising the death of his queen was nothing but a background hum to the emptiness he couldn’t shake. The loss of responsibility to his kingdom and people was carving a shallower grave in his heart than he had imagined, but there was nothing to fill the void conceived from a lack of purpose. 

Arthur had tried to discuss this emptiness with Merlin, who simply stared at a space-simultaneously in front and behind wherever Arthur stood.

Merlin. A blessing and curse wrapped up in one big knot that made his brain ache to unravel. Merlin was the saving grace of his existence in this new time. Arthur’s source for food and shelter; a familiar face to reassure him that everything would be all right, that there was a reason the goddess put him back in this world and that he would not be facing the horrors of the times alone. 

And yet, this was not the man he had left behind those years ago at Avalon. 

This man, _or more aptly perhaps creature_ , was evidently reclusive where he had previously been social. He lived alone, and even in the dark of night Arthur had known that they were at least a day’s ride from any citadel or castle if such things still existed. Merlin hid in a way he hadn’t before; smiles replaced by a disturbed expression that Arthur had yet to prove the impermanence of. His actions were near completely unpredictable. He had a gaunt and haunted look to him, as though his mind had aged a thousand years in seconds, leaving his body untouched. 

Where Arthur had once been able to tell with absolute certainty how Merlin would react to any situation he was now constantly out of his depths. 

All the questions that had piled up since his return were starting to build steam; yet his usual release mechanisms, bully Merlin or beat the ever loving shit out of some poor knight on the training ground, were lost to him in this strange environment. 

Since he had woken, talking to Merlin was like talking to a brick wall. Arthur didn’t think Merlin had moved from the chair near the fireplace since the previous night.

Yet, could Arthur really blame him? He had found Arthur unresponsive, caked in mud, and half submerged in a bog. An experience Arthur was working diligently to forget. 

Why were you digging?

What did you bury

Before those hands pulled me

From the earth?

When Merlin first found Arthur, he had immediately categorised it as the most wonderful day of his life. His king, his love, his everything; the reason he was cursed to live through the worst of man had returned. He felt the joy and excitement that had been taken from him with Arthur’s death flare to life in his chest; he felt his magic near sing when he had seen the blonde head of hair that he’d fantasised of for years. His destiny was fulfilled. The dragon was right. By the triple goddess he would not waste a minute of his new life with Arthur. 

He had broken that promise much quicker than he was prepared to admit. 

Merlin was certain for decades, _centuries,_ that he would feel Arthur’s return. Certain that the pure goodness Arthur’s return would bring to the world would trigger his magic; he would rush to the lake (which was more of a bog now, really) and Arthur would emerge in his shining armour, healed of his wound and glowing with the magic of Avalon, when Merlin would leap into his arms and snog him senseless. He would cry a little, they would profess their undying love to each other and go skipping off into the sunset. Content for all their days. 

Well, he had been certain of the bits before jumping into Arthur’s arms. 

Instead, Merlin had been out at the dead of night burying the last of his latest attempt to record his times in Camelot (vainly trying to correct the crimes that had begun with _Historia Brittonum_ ).

_His shovel, which had been easily sliding through the loose dirt, hit something solid; producing a sound similar to those haunting his memories of battlefields and handsome men with billowing red capes._

_After recovering from the shock of discovering evidence of human intervention in the very place he had heavily warded to keep them out, he had kneeled into the dirt and began to frantically scrape away vegetation until he had a very familiar helmet dully gleaming at him in the moonlight._

_Merlin then proceeded to lose whatever semblance of okay he had remained in possession of._

_The next hour was spent carefully digging out a whole set of armour, careful to not jostle the body encased._

_When Merlin had finally dared to unbuckle the helmet and pull it off, he was nearly assaulted by the memories of such a moment from thousands of years ago. The blonde mop of hair he had often had half a mind to pull was once again in arm’s reach. The peace on his face (so similar to his last moments) brought Merlin over the careful edge he had been perched upon and pulled the tears from his eyes._

_Arthur breathed. Merlin gasped._

_He had quickly pulled Arthur up into what was likely the most confusing hug of his total time in Albion and set to removing the burdensome plate armour so he was just in mail._

_By the time he was satisfied with his view of Arthur’s respiration, Arthur had come to consciousness. “Merlin?”_

_And Merlin sobbed, and sobbed, and vowed to right all of the wrongs of Camelot and to cherish every moment the goddess gives him with his love, the only man that ever mattered enough and the one thing Merlin had weathered thousands of years of loneliness and nightmares for, and sobbed._

_“Merlin? Merlin! Merlin, are you alright!?”_

_Merlin did not stop sobbing long enough to express to Arthur that he was very much alright, better than alright even. He was the closest thing to alright that he had been in_ eons _. Luckily, Arthur got the idea and had taken Merlin by the arm and hauled him up and announced that “There has to be something left of Camelot other than this godforsaken swamp!” and dragged Merlin to the first bit of solid land he could see._

_The luckiness of which is up for debate, this bit of land was currently preoccupied holding up Merlin’s car._

_Unluckily, Arthur’s first response upon seeing the red and, likely in Arthur’s opinion, rather terrifying automobile, was to push Merlin into the swamp behind him and attempt to pull his sword out of his scabbard, which was rather full of mud, and hack a great big gash into the roof._

_“Wait! Arthur, wait! It’s just a car, short for carriage you know, well I guess you don’t, but certainly don’t hack it to bits.”_

_“Merlin, what are you on about?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Here let me show you, dollophead” the way the word rolled off his tongue brought the wave of tears back to the precipice, but he reeled it in quick, feigning wiping mud off his trousers to hide his eyes, “Well, it’s cold as hail so, no matter your personal feelings, we’re getting in it and I would request that you refrain from slaying it before I get a chance to show you the bum heaters.”_

_Merlin pulled Arthur forward and, with a flash of his eyes, deposited him in the passenger seat before telling him to “Stay put” and dashing around to the driver’s. He sat down and scrambled for a second to pull the key out of his pocket, all while Arthur stared on with an increasingly hilarious mix of wonder and unease._

_Merlin started the car. Arthur jumped, but before he had the chance to react with any sort of physical violence, Merlin had a hand on his arm. “Trust me?” He met Arthur’s eyes._

_There came no verbal response, but the way Arthur deflated and stared back told Merlin all he needed to know. He quickly clicked himself in before shifting and reversing back towards the dirt path he’d formed over the years._

_Arthur’s breathing sped up, but he kept himself still with a calm Merlin recognised from battles of old. In a quick, uncalculated move, Merlin switched on the stereo._ _Arthur near jumped a mile at the sudden blast of electric guitar and pounding drums, causing Merlin to swerve the car a bit. He slammed the breaks, hitting off the stereo as the line “you want more and you want it fast” assaulted the car. This was possibly not the best time for Diamond Dogs._

_Arthur was slumped over the glove box holding his head. “Oh! Don’t want to lose that pretty head in a crash, do we?” The joke fell flat, but Merlin managed to hold it together long enough to sit Arthur up and clip him in before turning back forward and easing the car into motion again. “Thank the goddess it’s midnight, right? Wouldn’t know how to explain a big honking lorry coming at us, would I?” Merlin didn’t look back over to Arthur for the rest of the trip._

_They had arrived at Merlin’s cottage in record time, Arthur only looking a little ill from the ride. Merlin had ushered him inside and sat him down on the sofa with some magically procured biscuits and a cup of Earl Grey. He had then proceeded to talk at a rather shocked Arthur for nearly three hours, during which the biscuits were devoured while the cup of tea remained untouched, until Merlin abruptly stood and announced that they would both be better after a good night’s sleep._

_Merlin dragged Arthur down the hall to the bathroom and filled the tub, his magic remembering the king’s preferred temperature and oils when the magic user could not. He methodically stripped Arthur with the same detached manner he had forced himself into back in Camelot before nearly shoving him into the water and handing him a cloth._

_Neither Arthur nor Merlin had any energy to be surprised when Merlin started scrubbing soap into the muddy blonde hair and roughly cleaning in a caricature of his duties in Camelot. Merlin felt his magic seep out where he had been reigning it in for hours now and distantly noticed Arthur silently laugh at the shapes the bubbles formed, his mouth in an ‘O’._

_Merlin relaxed a little, and laughed too._

However, when Arthur had awoken a few hours before noon and padded into the sitting room dressed in a rather tight t-shirt and pants to match, Merlin had gone near catatonic on the deep red armchair and had yet to move since then.

  
  


I will not ask you where you came from

I will not ask you, neither should you

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips

We should just kiss like real people do

Arthur had spent the day puttering around the cottage discovering what a great many of the switches do and marveling at the wonder of indoor plumbing. He assumed that the lights placed all around were devices of Merlin’s magic, but he had no idea how Merlin managed to keep water so tamed as to have it where he wanted and with such a variety of temperatures. 

Merlin kept a box in the kitchens full of wintery cold-with food equally chilled-and one that glowed orange when the button was pushed that could hold things like a cupboard and spin them on a tray. It was all one of the most magnificent works of sorcery he could imagine since he’d been revived by the stuff. He found himself wondering if Merlin could have made life like this in Camelot if his father’s rules were not in place. 

Arthur had discovered a whole tin of the sweet treats that Merlin had given him yesterday. He was, at first, rather tempted to gorge himself; however, the knowledge that Merlin may not return to him for a bit led him to rationing. Most items he had encountered in the cupboards smelled rather like things Gaius would use in a potion and were thus better off avoided. 

Yet, Arthur was hungry, and there wasn’t much to do but sit around and wait for Merlin, and so he had plenty of time to explore.

While the tin of sweet breads had refilled itself at halfway empty, leading Arthur to become more liberal with his enjoyment, they were not a filling meal for a knight. The icey box was mostly full of things he recognised as ingredients: huge leaves he was unfamiliar with but assumed could be cooked into stews, a whole feast of butchered meats, and fruits that were certainly out of season. 

He had quickly made many key discoveries:

  * The box of cold held mostly edible foods
  * The majority of Merlin’s foods were sweetened like candies (of course)
  * The warning doesn’t exist for food that is simply disgusting
  * Merlin keeps tins of herbs where his food should be
  * Arthur had never prepared a meal in his life (Gwen’s chicken to go unmentioned; however, he wished he paid more attention back then)
  * The clear yet brown containers hold some of the best alcohol known to man. Weaker than mead or wine, but a wonderful way to pass the time
  * Magic is one of the greatest things in all Albion, if it could always allow him to bite into a ripe raspberry.



I knew that look dear

Eyes always seeking

Was there in someone

That dug long ago

Merlin had moved. _Moved._ Arthur had experienced nearly three days of watching closely, napping on the sofa-as Merlin had called it that first night-while keeping the same cognizance that he had on a hunt. And yet, despite his efforts, Merlin waited until Arthur had gone to relieve himself before getting up. 

Arthur returned from his excursion to the bitter cold to find Merlin in the kitchen making more of the liquid he had introduced as tea, seemingly avoiding the state that Arthur had left the kitchen in while trying to discover what was good to eat. 

Merlin was currently pouring boiling hot water from a large clear pitcher into another cup, this one decorated with strange words and a map that seemed to be appearing as he poured, and murmuring to himself “Fake magic with gimmicky spells and all for what? To be the worst kind of person? Another Uther all over again but she doesn’t even have a kingdom. She’s just loud and mean to the best kinds of people.”

Arthur had grown somewhat accustomed to Merlin’s continued silence-despite it’s initial strangeness-but hearing him speak, even if it was just as incomprehensible as the last time, was like sweet honey to Arthur’s ears. The urge to hug him came to Arthur unbidden, but he stamped it down without examination in favour for loudly asking “When’s supper? I’m starved.”

Merlin dropped the pitcher, though it neither landed nor lost any water, instead opting to float around at about knee height. 

Arthur couldn’t care less, because Merlin’s eyes glowed the most brilliant gold he had ever seen. It was not an aspect of Merlin’s magic that had concerned him prior to his death nor something he had yet to properly appreciate now, but appreciate it he would. They were mesmerising, deeper than he remembered the colour of other sorcerers' eyes being in Camelot. More golden to the sickly yellow he had been so scared of. He could spend eternity staring into Merlin’s eyes. (Heterosexually, of course)

“Oh! You’re up!” Merlin broke Arthur out of his reverie. 

“I’m up? Do you have any idea what day it is?”

“Oh. Maybe first of January? I usually go out around the new year, but I’m not certain. It’s been awfully cold recently. What’s for breakfast?”

“It’s past midday.”

“Oh! Maybe that’s why I’m hungry. Must’ve skipped breakfast and now I’m heading straight into lunch.” Merlin huffed a laugh before turning and willing the floating pitcher back into his hand. He placed it on the counter and looked around, “Arthur, where’s the tea?”

It was though a gear had clicked into place as Merlin looked around and realised that there were three days of crumbs surrounding the cookie tin and dozen empty alcohol containers. “You drank my beer? What have you eaten? Have I nearly let you starve? Arthurs usually leave around the second or third day, but I really should’ve known. You’ve eaten my biscuits!” 

Arthur was so far removed from any situation he had ever encountered before that he simply stood there for a moment before coming to a decision. “Come on, Merlin, we’re in need of a bath.”  
  
Arthur had not forgotten the magical healing properties of the bath he had his first night in the cottage. He was unsure of the actual magic involved for anything beyond how it came to be, but Arthur had remembered how Merlin’s magic had twisted the knobs and water had poured forth, an easy enough process to recreate. The two knobs even allowed him to reach an acceptable temperature. It was a large enough tub, he knew they would fit. So Arthur ran them a bath, and then went to where Merlin was still babbling to himself about things Arthur could not pretend to understand, occasionally throwing in words that sounded like a completely new tongue.

Arthur carefully stripped Merlin and then himself, leading them to the tub, where Merlin suddenly stopped. 

“Arthur, I can’t do this.”  
  
“Why not, Merlin?”

“I’m a servant, Arthur, remember? Not fit for even the King’s dirty bathwater.”  
  
“Merlin, I may not know much, but I know that you’ve never been just a servant, especially one unfit for my bath water, especially now.”  
  
“Oh” Merlin said as though, once Arthur clarified, it made perfect sense “Okay.” 

Arthur guided Merlin into the steaming water, settled behind him and picked up the bar of sweet smelling soap he remembered from his first night. “Is everything here meant to resemble candied meats and fruits?”

“Oh, that’s my fault. I’ve a bit of a sweet tooth and after a dozen centuries, it’s harder to deny yourself the things that just make everything feel good.”

“Well, for the most part I must approve. It’s like everything is made to taste of fresh fruits. I do wish I could taste something like a spiced wine again. Or fresh rabbit! Do people hunt in this age?”

Merlin looked horrified at the idea of hunting, though Arthur still couldn’t place the specific bearings of his horror. Was it the idea of killing innocent animals or the prospect of something so ingrained in their shared experiences of Camelot? 

“People hunt, but I haven’t hunted for food in nearly two-hundred years. Hunting for the sake of killing isn't going to happen any time soon. I’ve seen enough death to never need that again.” 

At this proclamation, Merlin seemed to remember he was sitting in a bath with his king. Arthur watched with curiosity as Merlin reached over for another clear bottle. He was tilting it upside down and, when Arthur was about to point out his doubts that such a thick substance could just fall out, Merlin squeezed and a thick glob of the sap-like substance spilled onto his hand. 

“You can do sorcery without your eyes glowing now?” Arthur reached over Merlin and snatched the vessel out of his hand. “Or is it a lasting charm? Does it only work for you?” Arthur answered his last question by squeezing half the contents into the water. He tried to grab it out of the water, laughing as it slipped out of his grip and dissipated into the water leaving bubbles in its wake. “What a wonderful thing to have! What’s it for?” 

Merlin responded by taking the rest of the bottle and dumping it into Arthur’s hair. “Cleaning.” He put the handful he had grabbed earlier into his own damp locks and smirked at Arthur, who was busy trying too hard to prevent the slippery substance’s journey into his eyes to notice. 

Arthur managed to create quite the lather and was soon covered in bubbles all the way down his torso. What he cared more about, was the new view of Merlin he was now privy to. All lean muscles stretched taut over bone and decorated in scars of various sizes and colours. Arthur found himself staring in a way he had never been compelled to in Camelot. Sadly, Merlin noticed. 

“Hey, Arthur? You might want to rinse some of that soap off. You’ve got a bubble beard to rival Dragoon.” He cupped his hands and spilled the water over his own head, looking at Arthur in a way that prompted him to copy. 

When the suds had been mostly washed out, Merlin grabbed another one of the flexible vessels and deposited a creamy slime onto Arthur’s hair. Arthur had leaned into the touch as Merlin’s hands started working it into his hair, but quickly sat up. 

“What’s wrong?” Merlin started to pull away, but Arthur grabbed his arm. 

“Give me some.” Arthur tried to impress upon Merlin his meaning while still not being able to find the words to describe anything. “Your second hair paste.”

Merlin blinks back before grabbing the bottle and squeezing some into Arthur’s outstretched hand. Arthur lets go of Merlin’s arm as he starts rubbing it into Merlin’s hair.

Merlin takes a moment, but quickly resumes his own gentle massage of Arthur’s hair and they both relax a bit. After nearly a quarter hour, Merlin breaks the silence. “It’s not magic.”

“Hmm?” 

“The bottle. It’s called plastic.” The word is harsh compared to the familiar patterns of Camelot’s native tongue. Sounding more akin to the tongue of a traveler. Arthur finds it near impossible to recreate. “Comes from petroleum, it comes from the ground and it’s made from decayed flora and fauna from millions of years ago, before men. Like dinosaurs. Though I wouldn’t hope for you to understand what those are since you could barely manage a dragon back then.” Merlin keeps speaking of unfamiliar and strange things that apparently make up all the wonders of the cottage, but Arthur’s hardly listening. 

“You must teach me this foreign language. I imagine that with the fall of Camelot the language would have changed but I can feel no similarities to either the Romans or Anglo-Saxons. Did someone else invade?” Arthur looks to Merlin expecting to see the same avid researcher he had known before. 

“Well, it’s quite complicated…” Merlin looks away and Arthur cannot tell if there are tears in his eyes or if it’s water from the bath. 

Arthur sighs and picks up the cloth perched on the slab of stone surrounding the tub. “There's plenty of time ahead. No reason to rush things. I haven’t even seen half the new things in this place.” Arthur turns Merlin around so he leans back against him and begins to scrub at his chest. “Speaking of new, Merlin, how ever did you find a tub this big?” 

Merlin’s laugh fuddles his words but Arthur is near certain he heard something like “king meets a ‘jack-oozy’” and something about jets.  


So I will not ask you

Why you were creeping

In some sad way I already know

Merlin had been mildly embarrassed of his treatment of Arthur, but he supposed that he couldn’t fault himself for the way his mind seemed to shut down so frequently around Arthur. Minds were tricky things, after all, and, having been with his for a rather long time, it had only been getting trickier. 

After their bath, Arthur had led Merlin into the bedroom and made to get them clothes. Merlin, upon realising Arthur would likely be unable to dress himself in modern styles with unfamiliar materials any better than he could in the hand spun tunics, had gone into the wardrobe and found a fluffy bathrobe and pants for each of them, using a bit of magic to help the fit. It was certainly a great improvement over the clothes he had dressed Arthur in that first night. Thankfully, sometime in the past few days Arthur had found a way to wash the clothes he had been wearing out in the bog. 

With their robes on, they both walked back to the kitchen where a flash of golden eyes restored order to the counters and made the whole room as fresh as though he had scrubbed every inch of every surface. He felt Arthur’s eyes on his face as he did the feat, yet decided he didn’t need to witness the lingering betrayal or hurt Arthur must feel at seeing such an act, not yet. 

“Right, well, I bet you’re not in the mood for take out?” Merlin started taking out pots and pans and spices, not quite decded on what the best foods would be to start introducing Arthur to the modern British palette. He quickly ruled out curry and fried fish. 

Merlin managed to come up with a fairly tame meal that he expected Arthur’s digestive system (and taste buds) to be able to handle. However, the sheer quantities of cookies consumed by the king had probably proven that he could handle anything. Or eat a horse. 

Sadly, Merlin had been correct in the latter assumption. 

“Do you have any more of that...what was it?”  
  
“Shepherd’s Pie? Or the fish? Or I could see if we have chicken nuggets left but I warned you they’re not good for anyone-”  
  
“-Especially not the delicate king of Camelot, yes Merlin, I understand. You are the one who left me to starve.”  
  
At this comment Merlin’s face began to blend in with the “creme eggshell” paint of the wall. “I didn’t really mean it Merlin, I’m sure if I had started to truly die, the magic you gave me would fix that.”

“The what?”

“You know, the magic. The magic you used to bring me back here.”

“Arthur, I didn’t use magic to bring you back. I found you. I think something else called you back.”  
  
“Oh.” He looks around the table at the devoured plates of food surrounding them out the table “I don’t think I’m very hungry anymore.”

“Arthur,” 

“Do you have some of the stuff in the brown bottles? What did you call it? Beer. Let’s drink some beer.”

If you had asked Merlin-of-a-week-ago why he picked up the pack of beer sitting on the shelf at the store, he would not have told you it was because he was planning on sharing it with the king of Camelot. However, he will never be buying beer for any other reason ever again.

Merlin was sprawled across the sofa, half laying in Arthur’s lap. The sofa smelled a bit off, but Merlin found he couldn’t be bothered to feed the guilt gnawing at his insides. He had, after all, had a rather long thousand odd years. 

“Arthur, Arthur, Arthur! Look at you! You’re here!” Merlin had to admit that being buzzed took the disbelief out of his vocabulary and replaced it with pure undiluted awe. 

“I am, aren’t I?” Arthur was staring at Merlin again, something that Merlin had been previously unwilling to think too hard about until Arthur’s confession that Merlin had “the prettiest eyes he had ever seen” and that “magic was truly the greatest gift men could have.” Sadly, this revelation had been followed by his admittance that the indoor plumbing is what had truly cemented this train of thought, and not the ten odd years of magical vigilantism that Arthur owed his life to. 

“We should go to bed before we are too drunk to care and fall asleep, teeth unbrushed and all.”

“Teeth? Teeth are not meant to be brushed like hair, Merlin.”  
  
“Oh, Arthur,” Merlin smirked at his king “You will very soon find that you are very wrong.”

With teeth freshly brushed, faces washed, and more suitable pyjamas donned, Merlin found himself standing outside his bedroom, face-to-face with his recently un-dead returned best friend. 

“Well, good night, Arthur.” Merlin turned away before he could wait for a response. 

“Where are you going?”  
  
“To sleep Arthur.”  
  
“I have searched every corner of this house, and from my calculations there is only one bed in this house, and it is also big enough for two people. Hell, Merlin, it’s bigger than my bed in Camelot.”

“It’s ok, Arthur, I can sleep on the sofa.” 

“In the sitting room? The red one that reeks of beer and unwashed knight? I’ll not hear of my personal manservant being slighted in such a fashion.”  
  
“It’s called orange, now, Arthur. Besides, we agreed, you’re no longer king and I’m no longer your manservant. I can survive on a sofa like a normal person. I could even get out a li-lo if I were feeling that insulted.”

“Liegh lough.” Arthur gave the word a turn around in his mouth. “Sounds ridiculous. I object.”

“Arthur, it’s fine, really it’s fine. I have magic, remember? It worked to clean your socks, it’ll certainly do for a sofa. Even Gwaine’s natural musk couldn’t match my magic armed with a bar of soap-” Merlin was cut off by a hand going over his mouth and another one wrapping around his chest in the second weirdest hug experienced by the (ex) king of Camelot and his (ex) manservant. 

_I really ought to stand up for myself next time._ Merlin thought as he was dragged towards the king sized bed. _On another thought…_ He watched Arthur pull the bed linens down and felt himself be maneuvered onto the mattress. ... _maybe I should always let Arthur have his way, at least if I get to experience this once._

“Budge up.” Arthur grumbled as he pushed Merlin as far over as necessary to crawl in next to him. Merlin took a cue and moved to the opposite side of the bed, curling into himself with his back to Arthur. 

It took approximately forty-three seconds before Merlin felt something poke his shoulder blade. “ _Mer_ lin,” Arthur whispered in that tragically effective way of his, “Merlin, I’m cold.”

_The triple goddess would not be pleased if I murder the love of my life on the first day I really have him back._ “Arthur, you’ve barely given time for the blankets to warm. There’s no way you’ll still be cold in five minutes.”

“But _Mer_ lin,” Another harsh poke to his shoulder blade, “I’m _cold.”_

_Prat,_ Merlin barely has to think to summon one of the fluffiest blankets in the house. It’s a huge fleecy monstrosity that Merlin knows will make Arthur uncomfortably warm in seconds and hot enough to start a fire on his own in less than an hour. Merlin hears the _whump_ of the blanket hit the floor. 

“Well, what did you do that for, prat? That blanket wasn’t good enough for you?” Merlin turns around, and if he weren’t so preoccupied by being angry, he might have spared a moment to laugh at Arthur’s ridiculous attempt to look pure and innocent. 

The innocence is quickly replaced by a look that Merlin can only define as _fond,_ something he usually sees reserved for Cook’s best honey buns in Camelot. Arthur sighs loud enough to wake the dead (HAHAHAH JOKE) before pulling Merlin by the neck until he’s flush with Arthur, Head to neck and toe to toe. 

Merlin is, by his own will, rendered speechless. He stiffens with realisation. He is being snuggled by the (ex) king of Camelot. 

Brushing teeth together was simply so Merlin could show Arthur the basics and explain what the toothpaste and mouthwash were. Dinner was the sensible and polite thing to do, Merlin assumed. The bath was a mistake that Merlin had allowed to happen, but Arthur Pendragon did not cuddle his (ex) manservant. 

Merlin heard Arthur’s soft sigh as he loosened his grip, but when he expected Arthur to let go completely, he felt the arms around him find a new place and settle back around him. “Come on, Merlin. It can’t be that bad, I’m freshly washed. You need to sleep eventually. For all I know, it’s been days.”

Merlin turned his head back into Arthur’s chest before his murmured admission could be properly released. “Thirty eight years.”

Despite Merlin’s efforts, Arthur heard him. “Thirty eight years! By the goddess, Merlin, why?”

Merlin shrugged, burying his face further into the (frankly quite ridiculously warm) body next to him. He couldn’t truly help the shaking as he started to cry into Arthur’s shirt. “It just took so bloody long, Arthur. They told me you would return when Albion’s need was greatest, but it was... it was hell. The wars, and all the awful things men can do to each other. And to women! And every day they find new ways to hate each other, but it was looking up again and I couldn’t help but get disappointed that things were getting better on their own. It felt so bad thinking that maybe people should suffer something a little worse, just so I could have you back, but then it did. Something so much worse. I was back to work as a physician, just a thing to keep me busy, but then Arthur, Arthur it was awful.

“Those men did not deserve to die Arthur, and they couldn’t even tell what was wrong. It was a plague like anything I had ever seen before, but people. People thought it was good, Arthur. They thought it would get rid of the ‘right kind of people’ and let it spread and spread. Boys, dying alone while they called out for families that refused to see them. Boys like I was, back in Camelot. Innocent things. I close my eyes and I can see them.” 

Merlin had moved to propped up on an elbow, looking down at Arthur. Arthur, beautiful Arthur who had been through wars and had still had a smile ready for any citizen of Camelot in need. Arthur who had been left alone, by Merlin, for days in an unfamiliar world and had still been just as happy to see him as ever. Arthur, who had rarely if never let that darkness consume him in the way it did Merlin. Perfect, golden haired king, Arthur Pendragon.

Merlin blushed and looked away. “It’s ok though. It’ll always get worse before it gets better.” 

“Were you looking for me that night?” Arthur peers straight into Merlin’s soul as he asks; looking for a reason to all this madness. A reason that he was doomed to leave Merlin before really accomplishing anything that he was prophesied to. 

Merlin turns away again, forming the words he doesn’t yet know. 

“The truth, Merlin. It’s okay. I won’t be mad.” It’s a statement that shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, but it brings out tears nonetheless. 

“No. I wasn’t looking for you, Arthur. I had given up, again.” Arthur pulled Merlin back down. 

“You know, Merlin. It truly doesn’t matter to me what you were doing in that muck in midwinter. I’m just happy I got you back.” Merlin’s only response was to bury farther into Arthur’s chest, as though he could crawl inside and stay within the comforts of his heartbeat and soft breaths. 

I will not ask you where you came from

I will not ask you and neither would you

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips

We should just kiss like real people do

Arthur had been awake for rather over an hour but still couldn’t force himself to move. He had searched the bedroom for a place to relieve oneself when he had woken in this bed the first time, but had not found any place that seemed made for the job. He was starting to wish he had searched more diligently. 

Merlin slept soundly during Arthur’s internal struggles (struggles which Arthur was afraid would soon become external if he didn’t get outside to relieve himself). For someone who apparently hadn’t slept in years, Merlin certainly knew how to have a lie-in. 

Arthur was beginning to debate the pros and cons of replacing his chest with pillows as fast as possible and hoping Merlin didn’t wake up when he felt Merlin shift and heard a soft hum. 

“Good morning, Merlin.”

“Good morning, Arthur.” 

“I apologise, but I’m afraid I need to leave for a moment to… you know. Piss like a warhorse.”

Merlin rolls over into the pillows, taking the blanket with him. “When you’re finished come get me and I’ll get up to make breakfast.” Merlin closes his eyes and Arthur is fairly certain he’ll be asleep by the time Arthur returns. 

He leaves out to the hall and walks to the front, regretting letting Merlin take the fluffy cape he had worn last night. It was a cold morning and although Arthur couldn’t figure out how, Merlin’s magic had been keeping the indoors warm without fire and Arthur was loath to leave, if only for a moment. 

As he’s pulling on a pair of boots, Merlin appears in the doorway to the hall. “Arthur! Wait!”

“Merlin?” Arthur notices that he had lost the tunic — _t-shirt,_ he reminds himself— and was left in his ridiculously tight pants. If Arthur was afraid Merlin would catch him staring last night, that was nothing to the realisation that his eyes kept tumbling down his chest before he jerked them back up to meet his eyes. 

“Arthur, you don't need to go outside! There’s a toilet, like a privy but full of water. And it empties itself!” Arthur thought back to the things he had seen earlier and vaguely recalled a fixed pot like a well that replaced its water with a press of a lever. In the same room as the massive tub and the smallest of the indoor wells where they had brushed their teeth. 

“Oh, well then, lead the way. I assume there is magic you’ll need to do.” 

Arthur could swear Merlin rolled his eyes, but he marched onward back to the water chambers. _What had Merlin called it?_

Arthur had assumed that the water-privy —or _toilet—_ would be fairly straightforward once Merlin had informed him of its purpose. He was wrong. 

“And this is roll to wipe up afterwards. You put it in though, when you’re done. It flushes down with everything else. And you have to close the lid before you push the lever!” Merlin was pointing at many small strange items that Arthur had left alone in his earlier exploration. “Then do wash your hands afterwards, over here with the tap and this soap. It’s just for your hands though, try not to get it mixed up with the other soaps.”

“Merlin,” He waited to catch his eyes before continuing, “I think I will be fine.” 

Arthur pushed Merlin out the door and laughed to himself. Who knew Merlin, of all people, would be explaining to Arthur how things worked?

When Arthur returned to the bed chambers, Merlin was already dressed in similar clothes to those he had worn the first night. They were snug, hugging Merlin’s frame in all the places Arthur had failed to notice in Camelot, and dark; the monochromatic look one would have first expected on Morgana.

Merlin looked just as otherworldly as he had the morning before, but some of his hauntedness had been replaced by the buzzing energy he had come to associate with the man in Camelot. _Magic,_ Arthur’s brain supplied for him. It felt right, almost comforting to know that Merlin had never truly hidden this part of him. It was Arthur who had simply failed to look, but he was looking now. Looking and possibly drooling. 

“Breakfast?” Merlin cocked his head and Arthur had a feeling that Merlin had been speaking to him for some time now. 

“Yes! Breakfast. Sounds delightful.” Arthur could feel Merlin’s growing concern over his, frankly, weird behaviour but Arthur couldn’t be pressed to care. Arthur was here, in the modern day, with Merlin. There was food to be had, and Arthur found anything else trivial. 

Merlin handed Arthur a pile of clothing that he had placed on the bed. “Arthur, you may have been the king of Camelot, but I know that you can dress yourself. The modern toddler can dress itself.” 

Arthur held up the first article of clothing, a pair of trousers that seemed as form fitting as the pants Merlin had given him yesterday, a new pair of pants, and a t-shirt in the same deep red as the capes worn by Camelot’s knights. The material was stretchy, something that Arthur attributed to magic. He tugged everything on, using the unusually reflective mirror to triple-check everything. It was one of the things he had revisited most since discovering it. Larger than anything they had in Camelot, the mirror had provided endless amusement to Arthur. His reflection clear as though there was another version of himself standing there in the room. He had never truly understood what he looked like beyond the portraits and descriptions of those he had feared meant to flatter him. Knowing how human he truly looked without finery or armour was a bit of a shock at first. 

Confident that his clothes were on properly, Arthur ventured into the kitchen again. He found Merlin fiddling with a button on a machine holding bread; the toaster, Merlin had called it. It smelled heavenly; the rich meats and breads filling the space.

“Sit down, Arthur. I’ll have it ready in a moment.” Arthur took the seat he had used before, perfectly positioned so he could watch Merlin as he worked. 

Merlin was swaying gently as he moved to the pan on the fire, softly humming some tune Arthur couldn’t place. He wondered if the music had changed in this new time. He remembered a room full of large objects that might be suited to the purpose; some vaguely resembled those he saw played for the court at feasts. Everything about this world seemed so new and different, and Arthur couldn’t wait to explore every aspect of it. 

Merlin carried over two plates laden with sausages and bread covered in preserved fruits, setting down one in front of Arthur and placing another at the opposite end of the table for himself and sitting down. Arthur felt mildly disappointed at this, as he had hoped that Merlin would sit closer. 

Arthur couldn’t place why he wanted Merlin so close to him, but the feeling was nearly overwhelming. Last night, he had failed to properly express it, and he found himself having similar troubles now. He remembered how he would have solved this predicament in Camelot. 

“Arthur! That’s my plate! If you want more you can ask, you great bully.”

“ _Mer_ lin. Shut up. I just want you to sit over here.” 

Merlin rolled his eyes, huffing a great sigh, but moved anyways. Arthur dug into his meal. The food was some of the best he had ever tasted. He couldn’t quite place the type of meat that had made the sausages, but the spices were wonderful. It was so different from anything he had eaten in Camelot and yet, much the same. The bread was a similar way. Sweet where he would have expected savoury, but paired with the fruit it was excellent. It was all still a very familiar dish, similar to those that Merlin cooked on hunts. 

“Did you use magic to cook on hunts too? It tastes too different to be the same, but it feels familiar, like I could know you made it without seeing you cook it up.”  
  
“I don’t use magic to cook.” Merlin laughed, putting down his fork and looking at Arthur properly, “I think I just haven’t improved much in all this time.”

“Oh. Well I think it’s very good. Why don’t you use magic? There’s so much of it in the rest of the house.”

“There’s really not,” Another clear vessel, this one filled with bright red liquid, floated out of the ice chest and into Merlin’s hand as he said this, causing Arthur to shoot him a disbelieving look. “I swear, not in the food. I’m too good at accidentally poisoning people still. Cooking is like making a potion, you can’t just will it into existence, the chemicals - the ingredients and stuff in it- they need to go through the processes of cooking and you can’t rush that with magic. Well, I could heat it, but it’s much easier to use the stove.

“And the rest of the house is mostly just full of modern invention. The water comes from a well, like in Camelot and runs through pipes to get here. The lights have this stuff in them, it’s called electricity, it’s like lightning, and they work by pushing the electricity through wires that, oh nevermind.”  
  
Arthur realises then that his mouth is hanging open. These miracles hidden around every corner, they’re _not_ magic? They were made to work by people like him? Everyone, regardless of magical talent, can live in such a state? He wonders if there’s magic in the plastic that Merlin showed him earlier. 

“Is magic in plastic? Like your vessel for your drink, is that magic?

Merlin looks down at his drink and the clear cup that he had put it in. “Oh no, that’s not magic either. And this one isn’t plastic, it’s glass. Would you like to try the drink? I figured it’d be a rather strange flavour to you.”

“Yes!” Arthur doesn’t even hesitate. He loves modern food. Merlin laughs to himself again, the smile warming Arthur even if it’s caused by his over-eagerness. He takes the _glass_ as it’s handed to him and nearly spills the contents down his front as he quickly puts it to his mouth to taste. It’s sweet as the fruit on his bread, but sour and the taste is delectable. It has something in it that keeps it from being completely smooth, but Arthur finds he doesn’t mind it. 

He looks up when he finishes the cup and Merlin is staring right at him, looking like one might at an amazed child.

  
  


I could not ask you where you came from

I could not ask you, neither could you

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips

We could just kiss like real people do

Arthur has been living in this new strange world with Merlin for nearly a week when he finally gets the courage to kiss him. 

Merlin had been trying to explain something about how the people in the television get there, and that they aren’t actually there at all, but Arthur was distracted by the brightness in his eyes and the way he gets so passionately worked up whenever Arthur has a question. 

He’d been ruminating on his newfound desires to kiss Merlin senseless when he had realised that he had definitely had the urge sometime since they had both drunk poison for each other in the span of months. 

After days of moving Merlin to be as close as possible and nights of rolling him onto his chest with the guise of making it easier for Merlin to wake him if he has a nightmare, Arthur had become something like a desperate teenager. 

It was Merlin waiving his arms around while saying something about plasma and wires that finally did it to Arthur. He snatched Merlin’s flailing hands and used the momentum to pull him in where he could seal his lips to the other man’s.

Merlin’s immediate reaction, to screech in an unholy manner and begin to pull away, was remedied by a careful hand on his back and patience worthy of a saint, until Merlin got the idea and slowly opened up to the kiss. 

While it didn’t set off any fireworks or cause his brain to turn completely to mush, Arthur was still a little tempted to become a poet simply so he could memorialise this moment for years to come; that is until Merlin started to do that thing with his tongue and Arthur lost all higher brain functioning.

**Author's Note:**

> I AM SO SORRY ABOUT THE LANGUAGE. After schools are closed I speak English ONLY at work and it is not very scholarly because I work in a café lol
> 
> I based this whole thing off an idea I had while listening Hozier's EP, and then posted about on tumblr (follow me @tabbabbles or @still-not-a-cat!). Basically, I have a thing for sad romance. (It started sadder than it is now, promise). I just can’t resist fluff, you know? I then wrote it while listening to Bowie on shuffle. 
> 
> I also headcanon Arthur as the kind of person that makes mental lists (like me) and Merlin as a more discombobulated flow of consciousness type (who can only stick to a resolution when it pleases him).  
> I also love the idea of Arthur declaring every Unknown as Magic and Merlin walking around behind him like "no <3"
> 
> I am also a tad bit of a history nerd, BUT i care about the wrong time. I know nearly nothing about English history that isn’t taught in schools. I still tried to be as historically accurate as I could for Arthur’s world experiences without veering off canon. 
> 
> I am also allergic to oranges, but orange juice used to be my favourite thing on earth (still might be) and I think I will always miss it. 
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos, they make my day (year, life, etc.)!
> 
> Also let me know if there’s anything else you’d like to read! I will gladly take requests or prompts. 
> 
> This is also my first Merthur fanfiction that I have been brave enough to post, so give me some advice for characterisation! I’m much better at writing women :/
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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